


Him and me and ... others

by DieLadi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 14,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29062017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DieLadi/pseuds/DieLadi
Summary: Sometimes I, Dr John Watson, am quite an idiot. In a way, though, it's typical of us. To have a loud argument half an hour after we've confessed our love. I should know what Sherlock's like. As good as he is at deduction, he's as clumsy as a baby when it comes to feelings. I can only hope that we can fix this...
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	1. I'm an idiot

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Er und ich und... andere?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11215515) by [DieLadi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DieLadi/pseuds/DieLadi). 



> This is a translation to my german story "Er und ich und ... andere?", which you can find here on AO3. Please be aware that english is not my first language.

Oh boy, how did I get myself into this stupid situation. John Hamish Watson, you can be a real idiot sometimes.

It's been five months since Sherlock and I were together.  
Getting to that point was a difficult thing. Which was mainly because, although everyone in the world suspected we were involved, I, on the other hand, was always and everywhere shouting out, "I'm not gay!"  
Well, that's true. I'm not gay, I'm bisexual. Nonetheless, I realize that I implied that I wasn't interested in men by saying that.  
It was purely self-protective, because I was interested in Sherlock from the first moment I met him, but he wasn't interested in me. He was married to his work.  
However, that changed over time; he fell in love with me in his very own Sherlockian way, even though he had always claimed not to have a heart, which, if I may say so, is of course complete nonsense.  
So five months ago we finally got to the point where we could admit to each other that we love each other. And we've been together ever since.

So far so good. Yeah, it's nice with Sherlock. Yeah, I love him and I love every single day, every single minute with him, even if he sometimes drives me crazy with his quirks.  
Well, I have to admit, I'm not always easy, either.  
And yes, in the end I am to blame for the situation I am now suffering from myself.

We sat on the sofa, held each other arm in arm and simply enjoyed being so close to each other. Knowing what we mean to each other. That we are still best friends and colleagues, but also so much more.  
And then Sherlock said:  
"John, I should probably tell you that I have little to no sexual experience."  
I looked at him astonished. "Sorry?"  
"Well, John, we've been a couple for a few minutes now and, as far as my theoretical knowledge of interpersonal relationships is concerned, a stable relationship between two loving partners that I'm willing to entertain with you includes the occasional sexual encounter."  
"Yes," I said, "but, Sherlock, we can take this slowly. I'm not going to pressure you into anything..."  
"I know that, John. I know you well enough. But I also know that you've had sex frequently and enjoyed it in the past, with your various girlfriends."  
Yeah, I couldn't argue with that. It was true.  
That was also self-defense, for the reasons I mentioned above.

"Sherlock," I said, snuggling even closer, "we don't have to discuss that now, of all times. I love you, and you love me. Everything else will work out."  
I should've known that wasn't the end of it. Not with Sherlock Holmes.  
Not with Sherlock-I-Must-See-Everything-And-Scientifically-understand-It- And-Plan-To-The-Detail-Holmes.  
"No, John," he said.  
"I think we should discuss this and find a way forward for both of us."  
I just looked at him, not knowing what to say.  
"John, it's not just that I've never had sex. It's also the fact that I've never felt any need for it and, well, I don't know if I'll ever need it."  
"You don't need sex," I said, "you want it."  
"Well, then I don't know if I'll ever want it."

I snuggled up even closer to him. Honestly, I didn't care for it now, I just wanted to be with him.  
"Well," I said carefully, "I'll find ways."  
Ways to convince you. To seduce you. Sooner or later. I thought so.  
But Sherlock, I realise now, had a completely different take on it. He thought I meant ways to satisfy my sexual desires, outside of our relationship, for example.

"Yes," he said, "that's perfectly all right. As long as your heart is mine, I can share your body with others."  
What? My head was bobbing around, staring at him in amazement.  
He nodded his head.  
"I've already discussed this with Mycroft...“  
"What?!“  
"I said, I've discussed it...“  
"Sherlock, I heard you the first time. You did what, please? You discussed our then-not-even existing relationship with your brother?!"

Sherlock's look was one of wonder. He could sense that I was upset, but he couldn't understand why.  
"Sherlock, you've been discussing the at that stage completely hypothetical sex life of our at that stage completely questionable love affair with your brother, Mycroft, YOUR BROTHER!“  
"Uh... Yes...?“  
"Sherlock...“  
I snorted angrily.  
"So, what have you two clever Holmes brothers come up with, then?“  
"Well, that it's perfectly all right.“  
"WHAT'S PERFECTLY ALL RIGHT?!"  
At which point, all I could do was scream, and Sherlock just looked at me in complete confusion, because he had absolutely no idea what I was getting so upset about.

"Well, John, that you and I should have an... an open relationship. So you can get sex whenever you need it, and I can... and I can... feel my way into things at my own pace, very slowly. Also, it would be possible for us both to accept if I actually never get used to the idea of sex."

At that point, I lost my temper. I only saw red.  
With Mycroft! How could he?  
So I jumped up, screamed angrily:  
"Well, if that's what you want, then we'll have an open relationship! And tell your brother to shove it!"  
And then I ran to my room, slamming the door.  
It's just like us. Having a loud argument half an hour after we confessed our love. Well, the only one who was really loud was me. Never mind.  
But Sherlock still thinks that I'm the one who wanted the open relationship from the start.  
As best he can deduce, he's as clumsy as a baby when it comes to emotions.


	2. Sherlock is unsecure

I lay on my bed in my room and I thought it over.  
Of course I was still upset, but I knew that with Sherlock I would always have to expect surprises like this and similar ones.  
So what was I to do now?  
Well, I suppose the only right thing would be to go down there and set the record straight. Make it clear to Sherlock that I, for one, was not interested in an open relationship.  
I wanted Sherlock. I loved Sherlock. And the fact that he was difficult sexually was not something I saw as a big problem. Either I would manage to show him at some point how wonderful it is to enjoy physical love with ones partner. Or, if it really turned out that there was no room for that in his life, I would settle for cuddling, and otherwise, well, just settle for hand jobs in the shower for the next forty years. Admittedly, those with the thought of him were quite ... overwhelming. So there you have it.

The love I felt for Sherlock was more important to me.  
I'd been in love with him for a few years, after all.  
I had fallen in love the day we met, I'd already fallen in love with him when I shot the taxi driver. I loved him and almost got crushed when I thought he was dead. I loved him when I started dating Mary. I loved him the moment he stood in front of me and I realised he wasn't dead. I loved him when I broke up with Mary because he was back.  
And now I'm...  
I didn't want to go to bed with just anybody. I just wanted to sleep with Sherlock and if I couldn't, I wouldn't sleep with anyone.

So I was just going to get up and go downstairs to clear the air and make things right when my mind started to wander.  
I started to think about Sherlock's motives.  
I knew him well enough now to know, or let's say, to suspect from time to time, what was going on in that brilliant but socially awkward head.

Well, I wanted to have sex with him, yes. But, of course, I didn't want him to feel pressured. Just so that you don't misunderstand: I would never do that, I would give him and me all the time that it took and, as I said before, if necessary do without it completely.  
But I knew him well enough to know that he would put himself under pressure.  
To please me, but also to prove to himself that he, the ingenious Sherlock Holmes, would be able to overcome even these difficulties without any problems.  
So perhaps it would be better to let him believe that I would get what he could not (yet) give me elsewhere with his consent, and so take the pressure off him.

I chewed a little indecisively on a lip.  
And then I made two decisions:  
First, I wanted to let Sherlock believe, at least temporarily, that I had accepted the open relationship.  
And secondly, I was going to talk to Mycroft about it.  
Thanks to my lover, he already knew about it and, as I saw him, he already knew that Sherlock and I had actually found each other. I had no idea how he always managed to know everything, but he just did.  
I even suspected him of having installed a camera at 221B Baker Street. Or at least a bugging device. I had also searched for it thoroughly, but had not found it.

Anyway, the thanks to Sherlock he was already in the know anyway, so I might as well get advice and help from him.  
I figured he owed me that.

But for now, I got myself together and I went back downstairs to the living room.  
Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, holding a pillow with his arms firmly clasped and looking at me.  
"John?" he asked, uncertainly. "Are you very angry with me?"  
It was so pleading, almost childlike, I couldn't help smiling.  
"Well, Sherlock," I said. "I'm not exactly thrilled that you discuss such matters with your brother. I'd like it that, in future, for matters concerning our partnership, I were to be your first person to talk to, agreed?"  
He nodded.  
"Does that mean," he asked, "that you still want me?"  
"But of course, my darling. Look, I love you. We've been a couple for about half an hour. And I'd just be a rotten bastard to give it up so quickly and just for a little disagreement, don't you think?"  
"I don't know, John, this is all so new to me... You've got to take me by the hand and teach me these things."  
He looked at me with those beautiful eyes and quietly said, "Please."

At that moment, I couldn't help but kiss him.  
He moved closer to me and he clung to me. My hands went into his curls and fuzzled around them.  
To feel his closeness and warmth was just wonderful.  
"I love you, Sherlock," I said. "And, you know, we'll certainly argue more often. But you won't have to be afraid every time that I'll give up on you. That's not going to happen, okay?"  
"Okay," he said, and then he gave me another little kiss.  
He looked reassured, content and happy now.

We held each other for a while and said nothing. Sometimes you just have to enjoy being together.  
Finally he took my hand and stroked it gently.  
"John?" he asked.  
"Yes, Sherlock?"  
"You said we'd probably fight more often."  
"Yes," I said, trying to radiate security and strength.  
"I'm afraid I'll probably be doing things to make you angry with me more often, too."  
"I suppose so," I said, and had to smile again.  
"And, John, you promise to bear with it? And stay with me anyway?"  
"Yes, Sherlock, I promise. I'm sure you'll be angry with me at one time or another. Promise to stand by me, won't you?"  
He snorted and said, in a tone as if I'd said something unspeakably stupid:  
"There's no question about it, John."  
I grinned broadly and kissed him.

" Huh, John?"  
"Yes, Sherlock?"  
"I wonder if you'll be angry with me if I confess that Mrs Hudson also knows about our open relationship?"


	3. Sherlock has a heart condition

I gasped for breath and took a deep breath to stay calm.  
It wouldn't do any good to get upset, and Mrs Hudson was somewhat of a close friend of ours anyway.  
It just bothered me that somehow, the whole world knew before I did.  
Sherlock was looking so insecure again, I couldn't blame him this time. Somehow the situation was strange. I started giggling.  
The whole thing was actually typically sherlock-like.  
Sherlock seemed relieved that I was laughing and began to grin. That was when it was over with me and I had to laugh out loud, so much that I almost couldn't breathe. Sherlock faltered for a moment in astonishment, then he joined in. And it took quite a while to catch our breath again.

When I was able to speak again, I still looked at him with a broad grin and asked, "You haven't told anyone else, have you? Perhaps Lestrade? Or Molly? Or even Anderson?"  
Sherlock gurgled, and then he did something that he very rarely succeeded in doing: he made a joke that was actually funny, and he did it deliberately and not accidentally.  
"No, John, but maybe I should run an ad in the Times?"  
Now it was my turn to look at him in amazement and burst out laughing again.  
He laughed along too, and so it was that we rolled around on the sofa laughing when the phone rang.  
We were laughing so hard that we could not answer it.  
It was only when we had calmed down after a few minutes that Sherlock picked up his mobile. It had been Lestrade, and Sherlock called back immediately.  
He had a case for us, and we set off.  
It was the case of the herring with the raspberry sauce, but it was uninteresting, Sherlock solved it in no time at all and used a watering can to spread his insults, and I haven't dedicated an entry to it in my blog. Wouldn't have been worth it.

  
The next day after breakfast I took my mobile and sent a text message to Mycroft Holmes.

**I need a word, Mycroft.**

_I haven't got time, Dr Watson._

**Make time for me, my dear brother-in-law.**

I was smiling. I wonder how he'd react to that.  
It only took seconds for the answer to come through.

_Good. I'll be expecting you._

_**When? Where? Not on your estate, M**_ **r. Holmes. I prefer neutral ground.**

_The Red Dragon. They have small private rooms so we can talk in peace. 1:00, I'll share my lunch break with you, so don't be late._

**I will be there. Who could resist your charm?**

  
I turned the phone off.  
I wasn't on duty today, so I did the shopping, there was nothing in the house again, while Sherlock was doing some experiments at the kitchen table. You know, the usual.  
But when I returned from shopping, to my great surprise, the kitchen table was cleared out and clean.  
I put the groceries in their place and went to Sherlock, who was sitting on the sofa in the living room with his hands folded under his chin.

"You cleaned the kitchen table," I said.  
"Yes," he said. "Is that all right?"  
"More than all right, Sherlock, I'm delighted!"  
"That's good," he said, in a perfectly businesslike tone. "Because I've been doing some research and I've read that people do things in a relationship to please each other. And I thought, that's one way of putting that idea into practice."  
I sat down with him on the sofa.  
He looked at me with a kind of amazement in his eyes.  
"John, I've found that when you are happy about something I do, with the aim of bringing you joy, my heart does something rather strange."  
"So? What does it do?" I asked with a smile.  
He thought it over very hard.  
"Well, it knocks faster and almost stumbles a little, like when you kiss me. John, as a doctor you know your way around: is that normal? Or should I perhaps be examined by a heart specialist?"  
He could be so incredibly cute in his awkwardness. The great, clever, arrogant, selfish Sherlock Holmes.

I kissed him gently and lovingly on the cheek before I answered:  
"No, Sherlock. That's part of being in love. It makes you happy when your partner is happy."  
"So there's nothing wrong with my heart?"  
"No," I said.  
"However..." I purred into his ear, "if you wish, I can come back this evening and examine you in more detail. You definitely don't need a heart specialist. I am, of course, the specialist when it comes to your heart."  
I kissed his neck.

He smiled at me, lovingly but shyly.  
"John, I..."  
He said nothing.  
"I know, Sherlock," I said. "What I mean is, if you want, we can snuggle up and see what your heart does. I'm not doing anything you don't want to. I promise."  
"Thank you, John. You're wonderful. I don't deserve you at all."  
I smiled.  
"True, but you have me anyway."  
He smiled too, and seemed more relaxed. And happy.  
" So," I said, "and now I have to go. I have a date for lunch today. I'll see you later, my darling."  
He nodded, and this time I couldn't place the look in his eyes. They were darker than usual.


	4. Mycroft is talkative

When I arrived at one o'clock sharp in front of the Red Dragon, Mycroft was already standing there, leaning on his umbrella. It was so typical, I couldn't help smiling.  
"You're punctual, Dr Watson. I appreciate that. Come along.“  
He opened the door to the Chinese restaurant for me and led me straight into one of the alcoves that had a door that could be closed and was therefore private.  
A waiter was immediately at our seat, and we both ordered a snack and jasmine tea. When the food was brought in, Mycroft closed the door.  
"I suggest, Dr Watson, that we first treat ourselves to these delicious meals. The food in this establishment is of the highest quality, and it would be a sin not to give it the attention it deserves. "  
It was all right with me, as I was quite hungry, and so we enjoyed it more or less in silence.

After the plates were cleared and Mycroft poured tea for both of us, he folded his hands, as his brother always did, looked at me and asked:  
"Well, Dr Watson, what can I do for you?"  
And, to put me off my guard, he added:  
"Dear Brother-in-law..."  
I had reached a point where nothing could upset me.  
At least, that's what I thought at that moment.  
It was only to take a few minutes before I realized that I had been thoroughly mistaken in this assessment.

"Mycroft... I know that Sherlock, my beloved partner...“ I emphasised the last two words in particular, "...even before the start of our romance of which you are undoubtedly aware..." He waved it off. Of course he knew. "...discussed with you the nature of certain very intimate details of this relationship."  
At least Mycroft didn't insult me into lying to me, that much can be said in his defence.  
He nodded.  
"Indeed, Doctor... My brother approached me for advice and I discussed the various options with him."  
"And you have come to the conclusion..."  
"Well, that an open relationship, where both partners have the right to seek physical satisfaction outside the relationship, and the concept of fidelity refers solely to the fidelity of heart and mind, is the best solution."

"Really? The best solution for whom?"  
I could feel my anger building up again.  
"Well, Doctor, on the one hand, for you. Because there's no telling when or if Sherlock will ever develop an interest in sexual activity. And we know that you've been quite active in that area in the past."  
I snorted.  
"Oh, so you just think I'm incapable of taking myself back for my partner's sake?"  
"Why would you do that for Sherlock?"  
My blood began to boil.  
"Because I love him? Because I care about him more than anything? But damn it, you don't know these things!"

Mycroft took a sip of tea without stirring.  
"Dr Watson, yes, I am of the opinion that feelings are a weakness, a flaw that leaves a person vulnerable and blocks some capacity for the mind to function properly. I myself do not allow..." He hesitated -  
"...well, almost no feelings at all. And if it does happen to me, I can handle it differently than my unstable brother."  
"Look, Mycroft, if you want to start insulting Sherlock now, you've come to the wrong place.“

"Not at all, Dr. Watson. Before you get too upset, let me get to the other side. Yes, I think a relationship kept open like that would be best for Sherlock, at least for now. You know how quickly he sets himself under pressure when he doesn't get things right. If he wants to do justice to someone, which usually involves clients whose cases he wants to solve, but now you as his partner whom he wants to make happy, he puts all his resources into this task. And because of his psychological history, which I include his addictive tendencies, it is important to avoid such a situation."  
"But he does satisfy me. Even without sex."  
"Very well, doctor. In that case, that honors you. But even I find it hard to believe that it will last. Do you have any idea how difficult this must be for Sherlock?"

I took a deep breath.  
Then I nodded.  
I made the mistake of listening to Mycroft and not sticking to my first impulse to communicate clearly and honestly what was going on. I can only take credit for doing it with the best of intentions.  
"Well," I said, "Let's let Sherlock think that I ... I'll find the satisfaction of my needs elsewhere."  
I sighed. I didn't feel good about it.  
I was in my head for a while and I didn't notice Mycroft staring at me thoughtfully.  
"Will you do it?"  
"What am I going to do?  
"Well, John, seeking your satisfaction elsewhere...“  
I interrupted him.  
"No!"  
Now I was really mad.  
"Mycroft Holmes. I am a man, and I enjoy sex. Yes. But now I'm with Sherlock and I'm not going to shag around! Jesus Christ!"

The whole thing seemed so surreal at the time. Here I was, talking about sex with Mycroft Holmes.  
But it was about to get worse.  
Because, contrary to my belief earlier, this man, he was easily able to throw me off balance.  
"Well, I can understand that, John."  
I wonder why he started calling me by my first name.  
"I have a proposition for you," he went on.  
"You're an attractive man, neat, charming. So if you get to a point where you want to live out your needs and not, as you put it, fuck around... ...well, I'd be more than happy to be at your service."  
I didn't think I understood him correctly.  
"Excuse me?  
"Well, John, in such case, I'd be happy to have sex with you."  
The delicate porcelain cup fell out of my hand and hot jasmine tea spilled all over my trousers.


	5. Gregory is overeager

"Shit!" I cursed. I didn't need that shit. Tubing half of London in wet trousers. Hallelujah.  
And anyway.  
What the fuck was going on here? Was Mycroft Holmes himself hitting on me, so to speak?  
I was stunned.  
"No, Mr Holmes,“ I hissed at him.  
"If I ever do want to take advantage of this free pass, unwanted by me and yet issued by Sherlock, it certainly wouldn't involve you! And now I would be much obliged if you would take me home!"  
Mycroft nodded.  
As if by magic the waiter appeared. When I went to take my wallet out, Mycroft asked me to leave it in the pocket, he'd be glad to pay. But I refused and paid my own share. Or else, that arrogant sod thought I was on some sort of date. That's all I needed, on top of everything else.  
Mycroft phoned his assistant, informed her of his absence and asked her to postpone the meeting with some CEO.  
Then he turned to me and said:  
... "Are you coming?"

So, Mycroft drove me home.  
Arriving at the Baker Street house, he got out of the car as well.  
"Do you mind if I come up, Dr Watson? I'd like a few words with my brother.“  
"Oh, do what you like," I grumbled.

When I arrived upstairs, to my surprise, instead of Sherlock, I found DI Lestrade sitting on the sofa.  
"Hello, John," he said as I entered the room. "Sherlock's getting dressed, I've got a case for him."  
Then he saw Mycroft enter the room behind me.  
And now, something happened that really shook me up again that day.  
Lestrade got up from the sofa, beaming with joy, walked over to Mycroft Holmes, gave him a hug, kissed him on the mouth and said, "Hello, honey, what are you doing here?"

I had to sit down first.  
"What the Fuck...?“  
Mycroft moaned sullenly.  
Lestrade looked from him to me and back.  
"I'm sorry, Honey, I thought John knew about us..."  
"Well," I snarled, "Well, I know now anyway. However, Mr Holmes, didn't you say earlier that you had no feelings in your life?“  
"If you remember correctly, Dr Watson, I said I allow almost no emotion. There is one exception in my life. And that exception is Gregory. My fiance.“  
And he took Lestrade's left hand in his and held them both up so I could see the engagement rings.  
I was stunned.  
Partly at the fact that he had offered to have sexual intercourse with me less than half an hour earlier...  
I ran up to my room to change. I wanted to get rid of the wet pants. And be alone for a moment.

Over the next few days, a little peace and quiet came over us.  
Mycroft was nowhere to be seen or heard from, for which I was simply grateful.  
Sherlock and I lived our lives, which had not changed much compared to the time before our relationship, with one notable exception:  
It turns out that Sherlock loved to cuddle.  
When we sat on the sofa in the evening to watch a film, I often didn't really notice anything on the screen, because we cuddled, stroked and kissed all the time.  
I enjoyed that very much, of course, and Sherlock seemed more balanced than ever and obviously enjoyed it too.  
It was a wonderful time, and I would have liked it to stay that way.  
Well, yeah.  
It didn't stay that way, though.

It began with us again in an extended cuddle orgy on the sofa.  
At this point the last date with myself in the shower had been a few days ago. I always need a certain calmness and a relaxed frame of mind. But the last days had been rather stressful. My job is not always easy, and one of Lestrade's cases had me and Sherlock rushing all over London. It had been a case of the deadly jump from the edge of the carpet. It was quite interesting, but there were some high-profile people involved, so I'm not allowed to publish it on my blog.  
So I hadn't had the leisure to remedy my lust.

And so it happened, which is completely normal when you are cuddling wildly on the sofa with your lover: My penis was in extreme erection, as Mycroft would have put it.  
Or, as Greg would probably say, who generally expressed himself in a much more down-to-earth way (heavens, it was still a mystery to me what the two found in each other): I had a murderous boner.

And of course, that didn't go unnoticed. I sat on the sofa, Sherlock knelt over my lap and we kissed. Our middles touched. And that's when he felt it.  
"John," he said, "I know you've not met anyone until now. But I think you should do it now, at the latest. "  
I looked at him startled.  
Then I took a deep breath... I was beginning to feel that this was becoming a kind of permanent thing. Should I ever have to fill out a questionnaire again, asking for extra-professional skills among other things, I should write: Breathe deeply. I can do that particularly well now. I have a lot of practice in this.

"No, Sherlock," I said. "I appreciate your concern for me, but there's no need for it at the moment."  
"But John, I can sense that you feel the need to... no, the desire for sexual activity," he said, and these words from his mouth did not necessarily make the problem any smaller.  
"Yes, Sherlock," I said.  
"But I have no desire to share that with a stranger at this time. I enjoy our smooching and I can cope with it on my own. In the shower later... you know?"  
"Do you think about me when you do that?" asked Sherlock, blushing a little and bowing his head.  
"Of course, who else?" I said, kissing him gently.  
"Still, John, I think you should..."  
"Jesus Christ, Sherlock, you let me worry about that, okay?"  
"John, I just want you to be happy. I know that I can't give you everything that you need, at least not yet. So it's best for both of us if you take it somewhere else."  
I sighed in resignation.  
"Well, we'll see," I said, and decided to go out the next night. I hadn't planned to, well... but I wouldn't tell Sherlock where I was going, and if he thought I'd had a sexual adventure and he was feeling better, then so be it.  
I sighed again and kissed my darling as hard as I could.


	6. Greg blabbers

I actually went out the next night. I met Lestrade for a pint at the pub.  
Lestrade and I got on quite well and we'd been doing this now and then. The last time, though, was a while ago. When I phoned him to arrange a time for us to meet up he was a bit embarrassed at first. But that settled quickly, so we both met around seven o'clock in my favourite pub.  
"Hello, Dr Watson," he greeted me as I stepped up to the table where he was already sitting.  
"Good evening, Detective Inspector."  
I shook his hand and then I said with a smile:  
"In view of the fact that we're sort of brothers-in-law now, I think it would be appropriate if you called me John."  
He nodded.  
"All right, John, but please call me Greg. Not Gregory, that's..." he hesitated, "That's reserved for Mycroft."  
I smiled.  
"Okay, Greg.“

Greg had got us our first beer.  
"I was quite surprised, I wasn't expecting you and Mycroft.“  
Greg turned red.  
"Well, it just so happens... He's different for me, you know? Not the way the world knows him, cold and calculating... I know the other one, the real Mycroft.“  
He looked embarrassed at the table.  
I nodded, I think I knew that one. Sherlock's insecure, childlike side, which I had got to know by now, would not be seen by many people either.  
We each took a sip of beer.  
"I love him and he loves me. Nothing else matters", Greg said calmly and looked at me.  
I nodded. And decided not to mention anything to him about Mycroft's advances towards me for the time being. Though I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing.

"And... How are things with you and Sherlock?" Greg asked after a while.  
I sighed.  
"Oh," he said, "so difficult?"  
"Yes," I said. "If I had Facebook, my relationship status would be 'it's complicated'."  
Greg looked at me in surprise.  
"But when I see you guys, it's like you're happy..."  
"We are, but...“  
I didn't know where to start.  
Greg beat me to it.  
"You're having trouble with Sherlock wanting an open relationship, aren't you?"  
I spilled my beer across the table.  
"How the hell do you know that now... Right. Mycroft. Couldn't keep his mouth shut, could he?"  
Greg nodded with a sheepish grin.  
"So let's have it out," he said, "what's bugging you?"  
It didn't matter now, so I told Greg the whole story, so he'd understand the context. Who knows, maybe he would be able to give me some sound advice, I thought.

"So that's the way it is, Greg," I finished my monologue. "Can you understand that I'm not doing so well with all this right now? Can you imagine how you'd feel if Mycroft came up with a very odd suggestion like that?“  
"Well,“ said Greg, scratching his neck, „I don't know how to say this, but... ..but John, Mycroft and I have an open relationship.“  
Good thing I didn't have a beer in my mouth or I'd have thrown it back across the table again.  
"John, I thought you'd know, after all, Myke's made you an offer on it..."  
I closed my eyes and sent a quick prayer to heaven. Dear God, let me die. Now. Please. A classic heart attack? Or a nice little ruptured aneurysm? Please!

But the heavens had no understanding, I stayed alive, and I thought to myself once again: Oh, fuck it, it makes no difference anymore.  
But the way life works: I think at least things can't get any worse now.  
And my life says: Fuck it, they can!

We were sitting opposite each other, and both looked at the table a bit uncertain.  
"May I ask why?", I asked, hoping to draw something enlightening for my own situation.  
"We just have needs that overlap in some places, but are too different to reconcile in others."  
He turned his beer glass in his hands.  
"Mycroft is... Well, Mycroft is... He's very, how shall I put it, conservative in bed too. That's OK, and we have a pretty good time in bed too, but... ...but I don't think that's enough for me. I just likes it a bit harder now and again.“  
Lightning strikes me down? Now? Please, heavenly powers!

"Well, and because I seek my more adventurous pleasure elsewhere, with his knowledge and consent, he has the right to find other partners for his nissionary sex. That's perfectly fine since we both want it and accept it."  
I took another deep breath.  
"I understand that the situation is different with you two. No question. But, John, I agree with Myke. Right now it's probably for the best of both of you. Sherlock can take it easy and you've got all the options.“

I took another sip of beer.  
"Well, Greg," I said, "I'm still not sure about that. But so be it. It is what it is. So could you just keep it to Sherlock that you and I spent the evening together? If he thinks I spent the evening with... well, met someone else, and maybe done something other than drink beer... then he's less worried about my... sexual needs."  
Greg nodded.

And so we concluded the subject. The rest of the evening went very smoothly. We talked about football, a subject that had interested both of us. ...and the recent cases. Rumors and gossip from the yard. About movies and music.  
...and a few beers.  
When we said goodbye, we walked a few more yards in the same direction. Before we parted, Greg stopped, scratched his neck again and then said (we remember the "fuck, yes!" that had my life still up it’s sleeve?):  
"John, I like you, and I appreciate you, and given your situation... so what I'm saying is, if you ever want to live the open relationship... so anyway, if you'd like to try a little BDSM and experience what it feels like to be a sub... I'd like to try some games with you, after all you're handsome and ..."  
I didn't hear the rest.  
I had turned around and was gone.  
Drinking beer with Greg was one of the things I would definitely not do in the foreseeable future.  
Where's the Fatal Asthma attack when you need it?


	7. I become hysterical

When I came home that night, I was pretty tipsy. Because now that Gregory Lestrade had also made advances to me, I desperately needed some more alcohol. So I went to another bar and had a few more glasses of whisky. To tell you the truth, I was more than tipsy.

I stumbled up the stairs. Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, working on the laptop. Mine, as I realised, despite the fog in my head. Anyway...  
I sat down beside him on the sofa and gave him a noisy kiss on the cheek and mumbled:  
"Good evening, my darling!"  
Sherlock muttered something, but otherwise ignored me. In love with me or not, in some ways Sherlock just stayed Sherlock, and I was quite happy about it. After all, I loved him for who he was.

I, however, was clingy that night. I wrapped my arms around him and tried to snuggle up. He took his fingers off the keyboard of my laptop and turned to me and looked at me. His eyes appeared inscrutably dark.  
He put his arms around me too and kissed me softly and said, "You should go to bed, John."  
"Will you come with me?" I asked hopefully.  
He hesitated a moment, then shook his head.  
"I'll get you to bed, John, and then I have some more research to do."  
He helped me up. Granted, I was wobbling a lot. 

So as he led me into the bedroom, he said "John, I take it you had your fun tonight?"  
"Yes, I suppose I did," I giggled.  
And in the next moment I realised what he meant by that.

Well, they say children and drunks tell the truth.  
So I pushed him away from me and hissed, "No, I wasn't screwing around. I don't have to fuck wildly around to feel good about myself!"  
I ran up the stairs to my room, which I hadn't used in weeks, as I'd slept in his bed with Sherlock.  
Tonight, however, I would sleep alone. I was simply feeling a bit overwhelmed by all this at the moment.

The next morning I came down to the living room late, tired and hungover. Sherlock was sitting on the sofa again (or still?), busy with my laptop.  
When he heard me, he looked up.  
"Good morning, John."  
"Morning," I muttered.  
He looked at me and then said:  
"You've got a headache and you feel nauseous. You're thinking about making some coffee before you talk to me. By the way, I would recommend exactly this order, because on the one hand you will have a cup to hold on to, something that always gives you a little security during unpleasant conversations. And for another, you can think more clearly if you drink some caffeine."  
I rolled my eyes, but followed his advice and made myself a coffee. Then I sat down in my chair. The hot, steaming drink did me good.

"John," said Sherlock, "I see that contrary to your original intentions, you were not engaged in sexual activity last night."  
I nodded resignedly.  
"I can also see that now that you're in a committed relationship with me, it's not so easy for you to make love to a, well, complete stranger."  
I looked up hopeful. Did he now understand that I didn't want all this nonsense about an open relationship?  
But unfortunately it turned out once again that my very clever consulting detective was as ignorant as a child in matters concerning feelings and interpersonal relationships.  
"Okay, I understand that," he said.  
"And that's why I suggest you meet Bill Wiggins for this purpose."

This time it was coffee, which I blew over the living room table.  
Bill Wiggins was one of Sherlock's informants from his homeless network. A shrewd young man who had done us quite a service.  
But that was no reason to go to bed with him.  
"Sherlock, I know you mean well. But please, just leave it to me, who I get into bed with and who I don't, OK?"  
Sherlock turned wordlessly to his laptop and continued his research.  
He was clearly upset. Well, my mood was not the best either, especially as I still had an unpleasant headache.

At that moment the beep sounded, which indicated to my mobile phone that a text message had arrived.  
I got a hysterical laughing fit. With tears and gasping for air, I was yapping:  
"If that's anyone else now, who also suggests I screw him, I'll jump off the roof of the Barth!"  
I laughed and laughed.  
"Maybe Moriarty..."  
I couldn't get myself together again until a sharp slap from Sherlock brought me to my senses.  
"John, pull yourself together.“  
I took a deep breath. Again.

"Listen, John,“ Sherlock said.  
"I can see that obviously this isn't working. It seems you have great difficulty engaging in sex outside of our relationship, even though it was you who first had the idea."  
I got a big look at him. I knew him well enough to know that he actually believed what he was saying.  
"I'm sorry about that," he continued.  
"But I'll think about the problem and find a solution."  
And before I had the chance to make him understand that there was no problem at all, he sank into his memory palace.  
All I could do was shrug my shoulders and wait for the next surprise.

Oh and that text was from Lestrade. He had a case for us. It was the case of the tapeworm carcass nailed to the church door. But it contains some very unsavory details ... so I didn't post it on my blog.


	8. Sherlock makes progress

The next surprise came. I was at work, I had just had a short break, when my mobile phone started to receive text messages again. I swallowed. Lately, as soon as it did, or as soon as someone called me, I always had a bad feeling.  
It was Sherlock.

**John, what nickname do you use on internet forums?**

_Why do you want to know, Sherlock?_

**So what nickname?**

_I'm registered on a medical professional forum, I'm just Dr. Watson there._

**No, that's not an option. Any private forum?**

My stomach started rumbling unhealthily. What the hell was Sherlock up to?

**Jawn!!!**

_Look, Sherlock, I have no idea what you're up to, but I'm certainly not going to be stupid enough to give you a clue until I know what this is all about. WHAT ARE YOU UP TO?_

**There's no need to be abusive, John!**

_You're gonna tell me what you're planning right now._

**I'm posting you on an extramarital affair dating site.**

_You what?!_

**I'm signing you up to a cheating dating site.**

_Sherlock! Don't you dare!_

_Get your hands off that laptop! Don't do that! I'm going to finish up here, I'm coming home, I'll be with you in half an hour, if God is with me , and I can find a taxi, and then God help you!_

_If you do that, I'm gonna whip your butt so hard you won't be able to sit down for days, my friend!_

As I was writing this, I had already thrown on my jacket, stormed past my boss' room and shouted something about "I have to go, it's an emergency!“ I could well imagine her rolling her eyes.  
I could be relieved that I was such a good doctor and especially that my patients liked me so much. I just seem to have a knack for sick people and their mental states, at least my patients idolize me, and that has saved my job a few times when Sherlock has really torpedoed it.

I was lucky and actually caught a taxi, so that half an hour later I stormed up the stairs to our apartment at 221B Baker Street.  
Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, had put the laptop on the table and had folded his hands under his chin. His thinking pose.  
"Sherlock," I snorted, "have you...?"

He looked at me.  
"No, John. I gather from our text conversation that you don't approve of my scheme. Which doesn't make sense to me. But because I don't want you to be angry with me, I didn't do it. I thought it best to wait until you got here so we could discuss it."  
"There's nothing to talk about, you're not doing it. You're not signing me up anywhere."  
Sherlock sighed.  
"It would be such an obvious solution to our problem."  
"No!"  
"I was thinking of Jawn for a nickname.“  
"NO!!!!

"OK, John. I understand. Even without your threat of corporal punishment. which I don't think you meant to do anyway...“  
Christ, no, of course not.  
"Oh, yes, my friend. Oh, yes.“  
He looked at me with big eyes, and you could tell he was trying to judge me, to deduce what I was really thinking. But apparently he couldn't. In this regard I was an exception, because there were always situations where he did not succeed with me. That was one of the things that had made me special to him from the beginning.

"On the other hand," Sherlock now mused, "such things should also be suitable as a kind of sexual foreplay. At the moment, it's impossible to think of anything like that. Even though when I cuddle, I begin to feel something that I can sort out as feelings of lust after extensive research. When you nibble my earlobe, my primary sexual organ responds by sending tingling signals through my body and it also begins to stiffen minimally. However, at the moment, harder sexual practices are not for me."

First of all - my dearest managed to turn MY primary sexual organ into a rock hard something with these highly factual words.  
Secondly - my head began to buzz, He had developed first feelings of lust! Hurray! So it went on!  
Thirdly, we seemed to be on the right track. Well, then... So go on then, cuddle and kiss, and well, looks like the right way to take the pressure off Sherlock was to pretend to date other people...  
And four, the idea of spanking my sweetheart on his beautiful rear was smoking hot... well, granted, I was a little bit of a spanking enthusiast.  
And fifthly I had the next laughing fit because my poor, overworked brain told me that if Sherlock would not share this passion in the long run, I could still turn to Greg Lestrade with confidence ...

When I calmed down, all that remained of the confusion in my brain was the thought:  
Sherlock was experiencing his first sexual desires.  
And, damn it, that made me very fucking happy.


	9. I'm going to party

I kissed Sherlock tenderly.  
"Listen, honey," I said. "Tomorrow's Friday. I'm not on duty this weekend. so I'm going to go out tomorrow night and...have fun. With no dating site and no help from you. I'm doing it my way. Okay?"  
He nodded.  
"Okay, John. I'll try to stay out of it. I promise."  
I kissed him again.  
"All right, and now let me make us something to eat, okay?"  
Grinning, I thought about using more asparagus, oysters and similar foods that are said to have aphrodisiac properties.  
But in the end I only cooked Spaghetti Napoli and trusted in the power of love.

The next evening I got dressed up and went out. I knew some interesting clubs in town. Some from earlier years, too, where you were in good hands if you were interested in the same sex.  
I planned to just have a nice evening, to dance, flirt and just have a little fun. And afterwards, at home, just to smile mysteriously in response to any questions or comments. I trusted my luck and the fact that Sherlock did not always manage to deduce my emotional state.

I let myself drift and ended up at the " Honeyblossom", a nice dance bar. It was there that I actually met someone, a woman.  
Her name was Nina and she was pretty, charming and funny, and like me, she just wanted to spend a nice evening without any further intentions. She was recently separated, had no interest in a new relationship yet, wanted to celebrate the new freedom.  
We danced a few times and she admired the fact that I was quite good at it.  
We had a lot of fun together and in the end we agreed to repeat the whole thing for the next evening.  
The evening was nice.  
And yet, every now and then I thought how nice it would be to experience something like this with Sherlock.  
But I just couldn't imagine him doing something like that, you know... I wanted Sherlock just the way he was.

He didn't ask me the next morning what it had been like. I tried something like a mysterious, satisfied smile. And I noticed Sherlock's attempts to see what I'd experienced, and I also realised that he wasn't getting down to the details.  
You know, emotional things.  
Anyway, the whole thing seemed to work and so I said quite casually after breakfast:  
"I have a date tonight."  
Sherlock's eyes became so dark again, so inscrutable.  
And his gaze rested on me with a certain intensity - if I hadn't known better, I would have thought he was jealous.  
But that would have been totally absurd, after all he pushed me into this situation with his teeth and nails.

And so it went on for a few Friday and Saturday evenings.  
I took the whole thing as an opportunity to let off some steam, have fun and meet nice people. But not once did I go beyond dancing and talking. There would have been no lack of opportunities. I may not be of classic male beauty, I can't keep up with Sherlock. But I do have a certain charm and charisma, I am open and sociable, and that certainly makes some hearts fly to me.  
If I had wanted to, I could have had one or two pretty women in bed. Or even the one or other good-looking guy.  
But I didn't want to.

Unlike Sherlock, Mycroft Holmes was in the know about what I was doing on those evenings. Or what I wasn't doing. I knew that, and I found it out very clearly one night when I was under a bit of stress.  
I always made it clear from the outset to potential acquaintances what my intentions were and what I wasn't doing. Nevertheless, there was this young guy who did not want to understand that I did not want to have sex with him. He became pushy and was thrown out of the club.  
When I also left the club later that evening, he was standing outside with a couple of friends and was trying to get at me.  
Well, I can defend myself pretty well, but there were six men ... that was critical. Just as I was getting ready for some nasty wounds, two "Man in Black" appeared out of the darkness, there is no other way to describe the dark figures who quickly convinced the boys with their muscles and martial arts skills that it was better for their health to leave me alone.  
When the boys were convinced, the two muscle-bound guys disappeared again.

Instead, a dark limousine emerged from the darkness.  
Of course, it was unmistakably Mycroft's vehicle.  
It stopped right beside me and my "dear brother-in-law" held the door open for me.  
"Get in, Dr Watson."  
"Well, I suppose you have so much decency, that YOU understood that no means no, and I don't have to defend myself against YOUR intrusions?" I asked sarcastically.  
"Needless to say, John."  
I got in.  
"Will you drive me home, Mr Holmes? I find that since you're obviously spying on me, for which I'm grateful for once, you might as well do me that service."  
He nodded and instructed his driver to go to 221B Baker Street.

"Well, John, would you do me the kindness of telling me what the state of things is between you and Sherlock?"  
"No."  
I suppose he was expecting it, cos he was smiling amused.  
"Same stubbornness as ever, Dr Watson."  
"Listen, Mycroft, I am grateful to you and your gorillas for your rescue, although I could have handled those half-baked youngsters very well myself,", (Well, I admit I've adjusted the truth a bit here), "but how things stand between me and Sherlock is simply none of your business."

How it "stands" between me and Sherlock... the ambiguity of this statement only became clear to me the moment I said it.  
I just went bright red.  
Mycroft made a sort of snort that, with a lot of good will, could have been interpreted as Mycroft giggling.  
It seemed that Greg Lestrade's influence was, after all, what made Mycroft Holmes more human.

"Dr Watson," he finally said, "I would like to pay tribute to you for actually succeeding in misleading my brother. I had some reservations at first. But you are, in fact, succeeding. My brother is firmly convinced that you would, well, live out the open relationship. Congratulations."  
There was not a hint of sarcasm in his voice.  
He meant what he said.

And whoosh.  
There it was again, that damned bad feeling.  
Yeah, I fooled Sherlock.  
And it just made me feel bad.


	10. Greg interrupts

So it went like this for a few weekends.  
I had fun, I won't deny that, but it always left a bitter aftertaste.  
And there remained this dark, somehow painful look from Sherlock's eyes, which I still couldn't identify.  
Every time.

And then one Saturday night came along and I didn't feel like it.  
As the usual time approached, and I didn't bother to get ready to go out, I felt Sherlock's look on me again, this time a questioning look.  
"John?"  
"Yes, Sherlock?"  
"Are you not having ... plans today?"  
"Oh, yes, I do," I said, "planning a cosy evening at home tonight. With my sweetheart on the sofa. Maybe a good film, if you fancy it. And Chinese food. Or maybe pizza?"  
Sherlock's eyes lit up, and a beautiful smile came over his face.  
"Sounds good," he said, and patted on the sofa beside him to ask me to sit with him.

I did as he said and he pulled me straight into a loving embrace.  
I surrendered to his arms and enjoyed his tenderness, almost purring, and we cuddled for quite a while until he finally said  
"Number 32, John, extra spicy."  
And I smiled. Yeah, that was his style. And I loved him just the way he was.  
I ordered, the food came, we dined aristocratically out of cardboard boxes with cheap wooden chopsticks.  
I enjoyed the evening to the fullest.

Later on, there was some kind of film on the television, but I didn't notice anything, because he had started cuddling again right at the beginning of the cinematic crap and he was, well, very enthusiastic today.  
Even more than usual.  
He had pushed me onto the sofa and was now lying over me. He kissed me so intensively that I felt hot. His lips moved down my neck where he nibbled a little bit. At the same time he began to run his hands under my shirt and wipe it off me.  
I raised my upper body slightly so that I made it easier for him and the shirt landed in the corner.  
For the next half hour his lips and hands pampered the naked skin of his upper body, so that I knew: I was going to have a date with the shower afterwards.  
Oh man, I was burning up.  
When I could hardly stand it any longer, I pushed him gently away from me, whispering heavily breathing:  
"Sherlock, I should..."

And then he surprised me.  
Again.  
He began to fiddle with the waistband of my trousers.  
"John," he also said, breathlessly, and I felt, damn it, yes, I felt he was aroused as well.  
His eyes were shining like feverish, his breath came in puffs and, well, on my thigh I felt that his penis had stiffened quite a bit.  
Oh, my God.  
My heart did somersaults.

"John," he whispered, "please stay. Please, I want... you... here... and watch."  
I looked at his face, it was bright red, he was embarrassed, and yet he too seemed to enjoy the situation.

The next moment he had unbuttoned my pants and I lifted my bottom so he could take them off. He did that, and my underpants were also moved to some corner of the room.  
I was thinking frantically to myself.  
Should I do that?  
Pleasing myself right here in front of him?  
Wasn't that still too much for him?  
Then I'll called myself a fool.  
Come on John, he's a grown man (...well...), and you want to, and we're both just bursting with excitement.  
So let's do it.

I was now lying on the sofa with my legs spread and bent, Sherlock kneeled between my legs and looked straight at my crotch. Just the look out of his so unfathomable eyes, just the sight of this beautiful man so close and intimate with me brought me at least to level ninety-nine.  
So my fingers began their job.  
It was a very special situation, so exposed to Sherlock, my dearest, to lie there and caress me in my most intimate places.  
Just the thought of it...  
I had to work really hard not to come too quickly.  
I worked really hard to prolong it.

I moaned, sweat ran down my naked skin while my fingers ran up and down my shaft; teasing my glans; my other hand stroking my testicles.  
My bottom twitched, my tongue moved in the corner of my mouth, my body shook...  
And then I came with a scream, I screamed his name, and spread my semen over my body.  
My breath was heavy. It took a while before I was able to perceive my surroundings halfway clear again.

What I saw was a Sherlock with his penis rising steeply in his lap.  
My goodness, I was getting hot again.  
A Sherlock whose tongue licked his lips, whose cheeks were red, whose gaze was veiled with desire.  
"John," he whispered, "John, would you help me? I've never done anything like this before, I don't know how to do it, but..."  
He looked at his crotch.

I couldn't believe it.  
Sherlock wanted sex.  
Not intercourse, of course, it was too early for that, just a hand job, but it would be his first time... my heart started pounding again, like it had to pound its way out of my chest with a hammer and chisel.  
"Of course, my darling," I breathed more, that I said it.  
I roughly cleaned myself with my shirt that I had found on the floor and gently pressed Sherlock onto the sofa.  
Now he lay in front of me and my senses almost disappeared.  
Heavens, was this man beautiful, and even more beautiful in the excitement.

At that moment Sherlock's mobile rang.  
It was Greg.  
Since Sherlock wasn't moving, I answered it.  
"John here."  
"John? Is Sherlock there? I've got a case for you. It could be exciting, it could be dangerous..."

Oh, boy, Greg was a nice guy, all in all, but he really needed to work on his timing.


	11. Sherlock surprises me

Sherlock surprised me again.  
He grabbed the phone out of my hand.  
"Lestrade? Listen...“  
„....“  
"No, Lestrade."  
„...“  
"No, damn it! I'm not coming now! Oh, maybe I will... what I mean is, I'm not coming to a crime scene now!“  
„...“  
"Yeah, you heard me right, John and I are busy. Masturbating to each other. Maybe I can convince John to fellatio... Hey, you asked!"  
He put the phone down, shaking his head.

I looked at him with big eyes.  
"Did you seriously just dismiss a case?!"  
"Yes, John. I did. This is more important to me, with you."  
I smiled with satisfaction. To outsiders, my grin would've been borderline stupid, but I was too happy at that moment.  
„Fellatio?" I asked softly.  
Sherlock turned bright red again, but he nodded.  
"Yes, John, I imagine..."  
I'd pushed him back onto the sofa and tried to kiss him senseless.

He was as naked as me. I didn't realize when he had taken his clothes off. But I didn't care.  
Now I kissed gently and lovingly down his neck, further over his body, came to his nipples and nibbled them gently.  
He almost reared up under me. God, it was hot.  
My hands went over his skin. I kept nibbling my way down.

I was as excited as I'd been since I was a kid at Christmas. Stupid comparison, I know. Whatever. Anyway, I was in a kind of frenzy. I felt like I was on drugs.  
I was on Sherlock, so to speak.  
Finally my lips touched his penis.  
I started to gently lick his glans with my tongue, circling it again and again.  
Then my lips closed around it. I began with gentle, sucking up and down movements, while continuing to play with my tongue and also crawling his testicles.

The sounds Sherlock made were indescribable. It was somewhere between purring, groainting and wheezing. It was incredibly stimulating for me too. My own penis reminded me of the tip of a lance.  
I enjoyed this moment, I was not in control of my mind and did not want to be; I felt heat and fever and yet I was as healthy in my soul as never before. I did shiver and yet I did not freeze. I moaned, but not with pain.  
Sherlock beneath me tensed his body like a taut spring.  
A scream escaped his lips:  
"John!!!!"  
And then he came, into my mouth. And he was breathing heavily, and so was I.  
He collapsed, I sank down on him, cuddled up and we just laid there, both unable to think anything, to say anything, let alone do anything.

Eventually, a rather croaky "John?" came from him.  
"Yes, my darling?"  
"John, what was that? What happened to me?"  
And that's when I realized with the full force of realization that this must have been his first, his fucking first, his very fucking first orgasm.  
The first orgasm of his entire life.  
I was unable to respond.

"John, is this how you feel when you think of me in the shower, relieving yourself of your arousal?"  
"Yes, Sherlock, it's pretty much..."  
"And is that also what you experience when you have sex with other men and women?"  
"Yes, Sherlock, it is."  
"And is it also what we would experience if we were making love?"  
"Yes, Sherlock, except it would be more intimate, and therefore more intense."

He nibbled broodingly on his lower lip.  
"John?"  
"Yes?"  
"I want to do all this with you, if that's what you want."  
"Oh, God, yes, Sherlock."  
He smiled at me, he took my face in his hands and he kissed me.  
"John, let's start by repeating what we just experienced. Today. And tomorrow. And the day after. ...and …"  
"Shut up and kiss me," I said.  
He beamed at me and he did what I asked.

And yes, that's exactly how it happened.  
We repeated what we had experienced. That same night. And the next. And the next...  
Sherlock had taken a liking to it, he was eager to learn, so it wasn't long before he too was able to give me a wonderful blow job... and he got good at it. Damn good.  
I couldn't watch the current TV series that ran in prime time in the evenings because we were so fucking busy. But well, if I have to choose between "How I met your mother" or "How to give Sherlock a blowjob", then I choose the latter. Definitely.

The case Lestrade had for us was, of course, solved after all.  
It was the case of the coloured dog. However, as I shone with some rather stupid remarks due to the reduced blood flow in my brain (my blood was apparently needed more urgently in other parts of my body), I did not publish this case in my blog.

It was a wonderful time.  
I would have liked it to stay that way.  
I was like, "Come on, life, it's fine the way it is, let's run with it and then get even better, yeah?"  
And my life was like, "Nope."

And so we're approaching the dramatic climax. The situation that I'm in now.  
And I think it sucks.  
So let’s take a deep breath before I tell you the rest of it.


	12. I'm a pathetic fool

I no longer felt the need to go out.  
And since Sherlock had now gone down the path of sexual activity together with me, there was, in my opinion, no longer any need for it.  
We enjoyed every evening what we were prepared to give and receive from each other, and it was wonderful.  
It could have stayed that way.  
But it did not.

So three weeks after the events just described, another Saturday evening came.  
I had taken care of some snacks, had chosen a film that I hoped that we both wouldn't see much of, as so often, and was looking forward to another beautiful evening.  
Then Sherlock came out of his room. And what I saw before me... wow.  
Yes, he was always handsome, and he always liked to look his best.  
But this was simply the definition of "dressed to go out."

"Um, Sherlock," I said, "do we have any plans today? Anything I should have forgotten?"  
He shook his head.  
"No, John. Not us. I've got plans."  
He came up to me and gave me a kiss.  
"Would you tell me what?" I asked, carefully.  
"Of course I would. John, I want to make love to you. Soon. And I want it to be perfect. And so I, too, am going to take advantage of the fact that we have an open relationship."  
"What?" I said, dumbfounded.  
"I'm gonna go out and find someone who can help me. Interesting, attractive people who are willing to teach me what I need to know for my first time with you."

I was standing there, thunderstruck.  
What the fuck just happened?!  
The open relationship... oh my God, how I've cursed those two words! ... had been thought of so that I could seek my pleasure outside of Baker Street, but there was never any mention of Sherlock! Anyway, until a few weeks ago he had had no interest in these things whatsoever...  
He couldn't... He wasn't allowed to... I had to do something!

And then I realised that I just didn't have any choice.  
After all, I had, at least that's what I had led Sherlock to believe, also had had sex with other people from time to time in the last few weeks.

In my head, a sort of list was forming, "Things that are going badly in Dr Watson's life right now."

One.  
Sherlock would have sex with other people.

Two.  
His deflowering would not be done by me, his partner in life, who loved him dearly! It would be through some stranger!

Three.  
Sherlock would have sex with random attractive people, for God's sake!

Four  
There was nothing I could do about it, because equal rights for everyone, and Sherlock believed that I, too, had cheerfully screwed other people.

Five  
Fuckin' hell, Sherlock would just make out with some other blokes and have sex!

Six...  
If I ever get hold of Mycroft or Greg who told me to go through with this deception, I'll be arrested for murder.

Seven...  
Whoever Sherlock was deflowered by, it wouldn't be me!

Eight.  
Sherlock would have sex with someone else!

Nine...  
Never mind that, there's no point.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. He could see something was wrong, but he didn't understand what. OK, how could he?  
"Problem?" he asked.  
I swallowed and said, "No, it's all right. Well, have a good time. And, uh, take care of yourself, okay?"  
He smiled.  
"Oh, I'm sure John, Mycroft will take care of me for you."  
That was only half a joke coming from him. We both knew it was probably pretty close to the truth.  
And I have to admit, that actually calmed me down a bit.

Well, it's been that way for weeks now. Every couple of days, he goes off. I feel like shit about it.  
I went after him once.  
Stood in the club where he spent the evening like a rejected lover in the shadows, in the dark, watching him.  
Saw him meet someone. Someone much smaller than himself. Slim, but quietly muscular. Short, sand-colored hair.  
I wonder what he saw in him...  
Saw them having fun that night.  
Watched them leave the club.  
Followed them for a while, until I had to admit to myself how disgraceful it was.

And now here I sit. Home alone. Waiting for him.  
I'd like to get drunk, but I don't, because that's not going to help either.

I'm unhappy.  
I hate that Sherlock fucks other people. Him thinking I've done the same when I've been faithful to him all this time.  
That he gave his virginity to I don't know who, and not me.   
That that's what's irretrievable.

So that's my story.  
That's where I'm at.  
I have no idea how to deal with all this.

And the worst part is, it's all my own fault, too.


	13. I am stunned

Okay.  
It's been two weeks since I've sorted my thoughts on this whole thing.  
I was pretty desperate at the time and I didn't know how to handle it anymore.  
Since then, everything has changed.  
Again I have to take a breath to be able to tell what has happened.

It was three days later. Sherlock had left the house an hour earlier to go out.  
I was sitting on the sofa, feeling torn up inside.  
I loved Sherlock, and yet I thought seriously about packing my bags and leaving.

I felt miserable and I wavered between crying and raving.  
I had just poured myself a scotch and decided to get drunk when I heard the front door rattle. Footsteps sounded on our stairs. Sherlock's footsteps.  
I'm not as good as him at listening to who comes up the stairs, and besides that, at knowing their life story, childhood illnesses, favourite food and what grade they got in mathematics in the third year from their footsteps.  
But I can recognise Sherlock's steps.

A moment later, he was standing in our flat, hanging up his coat, running his hair down. Then he came over to me, and he was a little indecisive. He looked at me, bent over, kissed me and sat in the chair.  
"Sherlock...?" I said, asking.  
He did not answer. He just looked at me with those beautiful, unfathomable eyes.

I didn't know what to do. Talk or wait? Something must have happened.  
Finally, I pulled myself together to say a few words.  
"Sherlock, are you all right?"  
He was silent for a moment, then he said:  
"Yes, John. I'm OK."  
A moment later, however, I heard from him a little softer:  
"No, I guess I'm not all right actually."

I took his hands in mine.  
"Sherlock, can I help you? Has something happened? Has someone hurt you?"  
I was afraid at that moment that he'd got in contact with someone who' had overwhelmed him and done things to him that he didn't want to do.  
But then... I have to admit that the rest of the evening was running over me like a bunch of buffalo.

"John," Sherlock said, "I have a favour to ask of you."  
He swallowed, and I could tell he was having a hard time doing it.  
"John, you know I'm no good at these things. I may be the cleverest man in England..."  
I had to grin and I thought, "Don't let Mycroft hear you say that."  
"… but when it comes to people, I'm just clumsy. It was irrelevant to me anyway. It's only mattered since I met you, John Watson."  
He took a deep breath. Well, his turn to take a breath.  
"John, I want to ask you, plead with you... can we stop treating our relationship as an open relationship? Can we please start being faithful to one another?"

A little John jumped up in my head with a cheer, raised his fist to the sky and yelled "Yeah!"  
But I myself was speechless. But then I nodded violently and said, "Yes, Sherlock, I would like that very much. I'm very happy to do it."  
"John, I want to make love to you and I hope that I can give you everything that you..."  
"Shh!" I said, putting my index finger on his lips.  
"Sherlock, don't promise me anything, we'll let it all hang out, and you never have to go further than you want at any given moment."  
"But..."  
"But nothing. I love you, Sherlock."  
Then I kissed his hands.

"All I want to know, Sherlock, is why. Has anything happened that might have hurt you, or anything like that?" I still worried.  
"Yes," Sherlock said. " I realised I'd been very, very stupid. I encouraged you to seek your pleasure in others, and I thought that was sensible and right. But... when you actually did it, it almost chewed me up inside and I suffered pain at the thought that another man or woman was touching, caressing, loving John, my John, right now... It almost killed me."

Now it was my turn to be completely amazed.  
"What?"  
"Yes, John. I'm sorry to ask this of you, and I know it's a lot to ask, but..."  
Again I put my index finger in front of his lips.  
"Sherlock," I said. "I think it's time to confess."  
He looked at me, asking.  
"Well," I said, feeling myself blushing.  
"Sherlock, I've fooled you. I never wanted an open relationship. I only went along with it because both Mycroft and Greg advised me to, but mostly because I didn't want you to put pressure on yourself, because you felt you had to give me more than you were ready to. I know you slept with others to learn and be ready for me, so that's fine with me and I'm not angry or anything like that.  
But, Sherlock... I've never had sex with other people."

The look he gave me at that moment.  
It was a mixture of bewilderment, wonder, love, gratitude and... Yeah, what was it? Anyway, he seemed to be having a great time.  
And then I heard a sound coming from him that I thought might have hiccups.  
It sounded soft at first, then it got louder, and then I realised it was a laugh.  
It got louder again, until he finally threw himself onto the sofa laughing, clawing at me and looking as if he couldn't breathe. I was a bit in a huff, I didn't think it was so funny, and sat there with my arms crossed in annoyance.

When he had somehow regained his composure, could catch his breath again and was able to articulate something like words again, he yapped:  
"You've never been with another...? Did you really not? Oh John ... Neither have I!"


	14. I am relieved

Well, now it was my turn to be stunned.  
"What? Sherlock, I want you to tell me what's going on, right now!"  
He was still wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.  
Then suddenly he pulled me close and squeezed me really hard. I had not expected such a loving, but at the same time possessive gesture and therefore I was completely surprised.

When he finally let go of me he began to tell me.  
"John, I have felt something that after thorough research I can classify as jealousy. I didn't realize before that your actions, or actions I had assumed, could trigger something like that in me. But they did. And I came very close to asking you to stop. But then I thought, you do have your needs, and I had no right to keep them from you. So I just stuck it out. But I hated it. And then I..."  
He kissed me softly.  
"Then you showed me how beautiful sexual acts can be between you and me. You stayed at home for a while. But I was convinced that this would not be enough for you in the long run and you would start again. And so I decided to find myself someone who could teach me what to do to make a man like you happy."

I shook my head. That dear, sweet fool.  
But then, I must admit, I was no better myself.  
"Well," Sherlock went on to say, "first I actually wanted to be with other people ... to practice ... but I couldn't. I thought about you all the time and I couldn't do it and I didn't want to. And then I met Charlie. A very likeable person. He's a little like you."  
I swallowed. I wonder if that was the guy I saw Sherlock leave the club with.  
"That's why I liked him from the start. He was also very understanding. He just wanted to dance a bit, have some fun, that's all. He has a boyfriend, you know? I just told him my problem."

I coughed. He just told him... but that was Sherlock. If he thought it was the logical solution to a problem, he'd do it.  
"Well, John, and then he took me back to his place. and his partner, Chris. And they showed me all the... everything."  
And I looked at him with absolute disbelief.  
"Showed?!"  
"Yes, John. I watched. It was strange..."

Before he could go on, he had to pat me on the back first, because I had choked on my own spit.  
He had watched? Just watching?  
It took me a little while to get myself together.  
"It was strange... and yet... it aroused interesting sensations not unlike the ones I get when you and I are pleasuring each other..."  
I've been able to get a few words out in the meantime.  
"You just watched?"  
"Yes, John."  
"You weren't... did not...“  
"No, John. I did not have sex with anyone. ...except you."  
"Then you haven't... ...are still..."  
"If you want to ask me if my bottom is still a virgin," he said in a tone as matter-of-fact as he was talking about the stock market or the weather forecast, "then I can confirm that. Yes, it is."

I was again... or still? ... stunned.  
But I was also incredibly relieved.  
"Sherlock," I said slowly and insistently.  
"Sherlock, I get the impression that we're both complete idiots."  
He smiled and nodded.  
I went on.  
"Sherlock, I promise to never again lie or deceive you, right here and now. No matter how much I may have done it for the best, noblest motives. But to always be honest with you and never let my feelings get in the way again."  
"Yes, John. I promise you that, too."

"And if I ever get hold of Greg and Mycroft again, I will rip them both apart. They may have had good experiences in an open relationship, but you and I are very different,"  
"Well..." Sherlock said reluctantly.  
"What?" I asked.  
"John, I have it on good authority that these two have also abandoned the concept."  
"You mean it? I thought their different needs were the reason..."  
"Yes," Sherlock said, nodding.  
"However, with Lestrade's help, I think my brother has gradually become more open-minded. In fact, Mycroft is about to discover the joys of the whip..."  
"Let it go", I shouted, "I don't really want to know."

And then he pushed me onto the sofa before I could swallow my tongue in fright, and kissed me wildly and violently, so that I became quite dizzy.  
His hands went under my T-shirt and began to gently caress my skin. Then he pulled my shirt off and threw it to the floor.  
I myself began to undo the buttons of his shirt and also started to run my fingertips over his beautiful, porcelain pale skin.  
It did not take long before we were both stark naked.  
We kissed, stroked, rubbed against each other.  
Finally his lips began to kiss slowly but surely down my body.

I was so aroused and felt his penis, which also stood like a spear, on my thigh.  
I would have loved to feel his lips around my glans. But then I heard him whisper:  
"John, please, I want you to make love to me."  
"Today?" I whispered.  
"Yes. Please," he said and I felt him shiver with pleasure.  
I pushed him away a little, sat up.  
"Then let's go into the bedroom. Go ahead!"  
I got up, took his hand and pulled him behind me.


	15. everything is fine

Oh, boy, Sherlock is just beautiful.  
I was just realising that at this moment.  
And when I thought about the fact that this man, with all his magnificence, with his beauty, with his peculiarity, wanted me, me, the somewhat too small, averagely intelligent and otherwise rather unspectacular John Watson, I got really dizzy.  
I had to sit down.  
"John, are you all right?" he asked with a worried look.  
I nodded.  
"More than all right, Sherlock. More than okay."

I pulled him onto my bed and started to kiss him passionately. He responded immediately. My hands went through his curls, heaven, how I loved those curls!  
I began to turn us around so that he was under me.  
Then I began to nibble his neck. Kissing me to his nipples. Sucking them gently.  
He seemed to like it because he was panting softly.  
My hands stroked along his body.  
I felt both of our excitement slowly but surely growing.

"John," he moaned, "John, please, I want you to make love to me..."

And yes, I did.  
I loved him with my heart, my soul, my body.  
I loved him. I took my time. I was gentle, tender, careful.  
I gave him what he could take. No more. But I did it with perseverance.  
Step by step, little by little.  
I loved him. I was getting inside of him. I filled him. I pushed him.  
I pushed him to the edge of the tangible...  
and then beyond.  
He was screaming my name when he came... and then I was lost too, and came inside him.

It was a wonderful first time for him, and when we held each other in our arms he cried.  
But he cried from the exuberance of feelings and sensations.  
It was all so new to him, and he, who often dealt with feelings so objectively, was a bit overwhelmed, and therefore the tears.  
But they were good tears, and they forged us even closer to each other.

Eventually we fell asleep, both exhausted but happy.

* * *

The next morning I woke up and the bed next to me was empty. I got up, snuggled in my bathrobe and went in search of Sherlock.  
He was sitting in the kitchen and had actually made some tea.  
When I entered the room, he looked at me with an embarrassed smile.  
"Actually, I was planning to make breakfast for you, John. But I'm afraid I might have damaged dishes, spoiled food, set off the fire alarm and panicked Mrs Hudson."  
I smiled. I suppose it was probably for the best.  
I walked over to him, put his face in my hands, kissed him on the forehead and said:  
"So, Sherlock, how are you doing?"  
He smiled.  
"I'm fine, John. The man I love has deflowered me. Of course, my backside hurts a bit. Which is no wonder, given that your penis has penetrated my Musculus Sphincter Ani..."  
I put a finger on his lips and laughed.  
"It's okay," I said, "you don't have to explain the process so objectively... even though you make it sound sexy."  
"Well, John, anyway, I'm fine. I'm happy. And I thank you."  
I leaned over and kissed him softly.  
And then I stretched and made breakfast.  
At the same time I hummed happily to myself, because I was also feeling well, and it was such a wonderful morning, as I would not have dreamed of a few days ago.  
It was simply everything in the best of order.

"John?" he spoke softly and questioningly to me.  
"Did I... give you... ...give you everything you need?"  
"More than that, Sherlock. You've made me happy."  
"Good. Then maybe you'll agree to do it more often."  
"Yes, of course. Always. Gladly.

"And John?  
"Yes?  
"No more open relationship?  
"Oh, no, Sherlock, it's just you and me now, exclusively.  
"Very good.

"Oh, and John?"  
"Yeah?"  
"I like the name Watson."  
"Um..."  
"Or do you prefer Holmes?"  
"Um... I don't..."  
"I see."  
He got up, ran into the living room and when he came back he was holding a small box.  
"You know, I'm not very good at this. But I thought if I was going to propose, it would be fair that you get to choose the name."  
And he opened the box, which contained two narrow, satin-finished silver rings.  
"Propose...?" I stammered.  
"Yes, John. That's what you do when you want to get married, isn't it?"  
"Married...?"

His eyes became unsteady.  
"No good? Did I do something wrong?"  
I was beginning to come out of it.  
"No, Sherlock, you're doing everything right, I'm just so surprised..."  
"Oh," he said, "now I suppose I'll have to ask you if you want to go at all. So, John, will you marry me?"  
"Yes," I breathed happily, "and... Watson. I'd like it if we were both called Watson."  
And with that, I kissed him again, wildly this time, and he beamed happily at me.

* * *

Feedback? Please?


End file.
